


Snow

by marcish



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blood, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Character Death, Childbirth, Death in Childbirth, F/M, Forced Marriage, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadness, theres a lot in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcish/pseuds/marcish
Summary: Simon Snow, the Crown Prince of Watford, has never known parietal love. He has a father who wasn't around for the first 11 years of his life and a mother that was dead. Now Simon has to deal with the pressures his father placed on him, aristocratic corruption, mysterious disappearances, the woman he is supposed to marry, and his TOTALLY NOT SEXY language teacher. (Who he is pretty sure is a vampire.)





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Blood

Mornings at the Watford palace were usually calm and slow, but this fateful morning was anything but. Nurses scrambling about while screams ripped through the halls from the infirmary wing. Nobles and servants alike gossiped about what the outcome of the morning would be.

The ordeal had started just before dawn, when the queen had gone into labor. Her husband, the king, had carried her to the infirmary where the midwives took her and assured him that everything would be fine, just peachy, as one older woman had put it, despite the fear in her eyes.

In reality, everything was not okay. The queen was bleeding fast, she was in too much pain, the baby was coming 3 weeks early, and she wasn’t dilated properly. Despite these troubles, the queen was still holding on, but the nurses and midwives didn’t know how much longer she would be able to fight her inevitable death. This was quite the opposite of okay. The king realized this fact after 2 hours of wailing, when a nurse had come out and ushered him into the room. They only did that in extreme cases, husbands weren’t allowed at births unless the wife was dying.

“Your Majesty,” a small mousy woman addressed him, “She won’t be able to hold out much longer. The baby isn’t able to come, and we’re losing her. We can try and surgically remove the baby, but there’s a low chance of success, and the queen will surely die.”

“What will happen if we wait?”

“Then you will most likely lose both mother and child.”

The king lets her words sink in. All the queen had ever wanted was a child to call her own. All their other attempts had failed with miscarriages. She would have given anything for a child, even her life, and her husband knew that. He swallowed hard. “Do what you must,” he said simply, then turned and left the room.

The maid nodded at a surgeon standing by the bed, who picked up his tools and walked over to the queen. “Your Majesty, I am not here to lie to you. You are going to die on this bed, whether by my hand or from the baby. If you allow me to do this you will die sooner, your pain will end, and your child will have a chance at life. If you refuse, you and your child will both face almost certain death.”

The queen just whimpered and nodded her head, she was in too much pain to do much else.

The surgeon nodded and picked up his scalpel. He placed the knife against the queen’s lower abdomen, and began to cut. Blood was everywhere, from the wound and between her legs. The queen was screaming even louder now, but after a moment she stopped, whimpered, and went still.

A chill went down the king’s spine when the screaming stopped. He knew his wife was dead, and he wanted to feel something, anything, but he only felt numb.

The surgeon was able to remove the baby and quickly turned it onto its stomach and smacked its back until it started to cry. He checked to see that the baby was a prince, and cut the umbilical cord with his knife.

The king reentered the room and walked over to the baby, who was now in a blanket, and looked at the midwife expectantly.

“A boy, Your Majesty. He's healthy and has strong lungs,” she said quickly, before bowing and briskly walking away from the king. She was afraid, there was something in his eyes that terrified her, and she almost didn’t want to hand over the child to him, but she did. She had to.

The king looked at the screaming baby in his arms. He was small and covered in blood and other fluids. He looked over to his wife, body and bed soaked with blood, tear tracks staining her cheeks, hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. Her eyes were closed, if it weren’t for the blood he would have thought her to be sleeping, but he was no fool, he knew his wife was dead.

He had tried to warn her, every time she would bring up the topic of children he would remind her of all the other times, of how every time they would conceive a child it would die within two weeks. Every time she would convince him to try again. “This time, Davy, it will work this time. We can try more prayers, we can go to the apothecary and find stronger concoctions, we can do this, Davy, we can do this together.” He knew he was lying when he told himself over and over that nothing would go wrong, that she was right, that they would finally be able to live a happy life, all three of them.

He looked at the child again, this small baby took his wife, his light. He couldn’t stand to look at him, at his son, the baby that took his wife from him. He knew, deep down that this was pointless and silly, but in the moment, he couldn’t take this. He handed the baby back to a nurse, he figured he needed to eat by now. The king turned, and walked out of the room.

 

_One week later._

The king had been rummaging through his late wife’s desk when he found the letter, addressed to him and “our child”. He felt guilty at those last two words, he hadn’t gone to see their son in a week, the nurses had tried to get him to go, to see his son, to give the prince a name. 

“We will figure it out when _he_ arrives, Davy.” She was so set on him being a boy, she would have been elated to know she was right.

He opened the letter with trembling hands.

_Davy,_

_You reading this means our worse fears have been met and I have passed. This must be the hardest thing, I am so sorry for leaving you soon. Please, Davy, carry on, for our baby._  

_I know we never decided on a proper name, but I was thinking Simon for a boy, Prince Simon Snow Sailsbury of Watford. It sounds nice. Our little Simon. I never really thought about a name for a girl, because I am still 100% sure he will be a boy._

_I love you, Davy, and I love our baby that still sleeps in my womb. Please, tell him mummy’s sorry she had to leave, tell him I never meant to leave him._

_This is short, but I don’t know what else to say. Please, give our baby a good life, love him like I would, like I do._

_~Lucy_

The king threw the letter on the table and stormed down the halls toward the royal library, if the queen wanted so badly for her son to know she loves him, then she can tell him her damn self. The king was going to get his wife back, he cared not if he had to throw himself into heathenistic magic, he did not care if he had to start wars to get his wife back. He would do anything, _anything,_ to get her back.

He walked past the many shelves of the library, to the locked area where banned books telling of dark rituals and forbidden magic lay, to find a way to get her back.

 

~~~

 

For years the king was either locked up in the library or out killing magical creatures who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give him the answer to bring his wife back. He killed off the vampires, fairies, unicorns, and any other magical creature that was known to have some power that resulted in rebirth, or anything to do with life at all. The killings were pointless, and the country was falling apart without their king to lead them. People were upset with the once-loved king, who has now abandoned his country and son. Noble families were working and plotting against each other on how to over throw the king and take the thrown for themselves when the deed was done 

The chaos has been going on for 11 years now, and the prince was left alone, raised by nurses and butlers. The only gift he was ever given from his parents was him name, Simon Snow. He disregarded his last name. He was young, but he knew what atrocities his father was committing, the genocide of magical creatures, just because they didn’t have the answers he wanted.

Simon never blamed him mother, he missed her, but it wasn’t her fault she died.

Around his 12th birthday, Simon received another gift, his father came back. He stopped killing magical creatures, directly, at least. They were still dying left and right, but now the king just sent his men out to do it for him. Magic has failed him, and now it would be the doom of others.

Simon still resented him at first, but eventually the king started to act like a father, or something akin to one at least. For the first time in his life, Simon almost felt cared about. His father would still leave sometimes, but never like the 11 year stretch there was before.

Things were almost starting to feel normal for Simon.

_Almost._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon receives news from his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very tired and I didn't read this I'm very sorry.

**_ 7 years later _ **

 

**Simon**

Almost every day since I was 13 has been the same. Wake up, eat, classes, lunch, read papers, check on the military, dinner, then to enjoy the little free time I had until I went to sleep. It’s mundane and boring, I wanted change, I wanted something exciting to happen. I never asked to be born a prince. I often dream about growing wings and flying away, never looking back on this palace ever again.

Even though, I genuinely enjoy my classes. They make me feel more normal, like I could be anyone else (Even though I’m the only person in the class) and not the crown prince of one of the largest kingdoms in the realm. 

The only downside to my classes would be my foreign language class. More specifically, the instructor, Basilton, or Baz, whatever.

I’m not even sure why he’s my instructor, he’s not even four years older than me, and him and his family wants my father and I dead. He used to be crown prince back when he was an infant. His mother, the queen, died in an attack on the palace, and soon after his father died of the plague. When my father took over, and the people were happy about it, surprisingly. The Pitch family was corrupt and known for stabbing people in the back, both literally and figuratively. The people thought father was a refreshing change, he brought reforms and was well loved, until my mother died.

What’s left of the Pitch family just sit around plotting coups against my father, planning the many ways they can kill him and take back the thrown. Yet here I am, studying all different forms of language with the most important person of the entire family. If my father dies and I for whatever reason can’t take over, Baz will most likely take the crown and become king.

Father says we need him here to “keep the enemy close.”

Not to mention, Baz is most likely, no, he’s definitely a vampire. They were the ones who killed his mother, and rumor has it one was in his room during the attack.

It would make sense, everything I’ve read about vampires points to him being one. His dark and brooding personality, his skin that’s so pale its almost translucent, as if he has only a little blood left in his body. I swear I saw him sparkle once, I read vampires can do that, but I’ve also heard that’s a myth, so who knows. 

I once spent an entire year when I was 15 just following him around trying to see if I could catch him eating someone. Some of the maids and butlers have been going missing recently, and I swear it’s because Baz is having them for lunch.

People think I’m crazy.

I might be crazy, I might be so far gone I need to be thrown into the asylum. _Or_ Baz Pitch is a vampire who is plotting who to kill me and then drain me of my blood and drink me in a wine glass. Until I have solid proof of my brain turning into mush, I choose to believe the later. 

I am currently sitting at my desk staring daggers at Baz as he drones on his deep posh voice about roots or conjugates or something. I’m not paying attention, I keep looking at his eyes, his stupid, boring, gray eyes that look like they can see right through you. He always looks like he knows all your deepest fears and secrets, and he’s judging you for them. 

I’m snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of a large sigh and a book snapping closed, “Snow, are you even paying the slightest bit of attention?” Baz snaps at me.

“Yes,” I snap back at him. Baz never calls me by my name, only Snow, but he doesn’t use formal names either, which I guess is good. I hate formalities, and practically no one ever calls me ‘sir’ or ‘milord’ unless we are around my father.

“Well, if you’re paying such good attention, repeat back to me what I just said, in the tongue.”

“…Uh…”

“Exactly, pay attention, or in putting negative remarks in you lesson report to the king.”

It’s a half-assed threat. He’s only ever given a negative report to my father once, a few years back, and almost gotten his head bitten off. Father only blamed Baz for my failures.

I felt bad so him. As much as I hate Baz, I’m not the greatest fan of my father either.

I look out the window and see blankets of white. I love winter, I have since I was a little child. People are always shocked when I mention it, they talk about how they believed the complete opposite. Winter is calm and quiet, and I’m loud and explosive. But, I like it, I think it was my mother’s favorite also. I can’t think of any other reason why she would name me Snow.

I hear the church bells ring, signaling that I’m finally free from the prison that is Baz.

He reminds me of winter, grey eyes that are as cold as his personality. If he ever tried, I think he could be a good person, but he pushes everyone away, and never gets close.

I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t trying to kill me.

As I walk down the long corridors towards Fathers private office, he had something important to talk to me about. I don’t really know what it is, he never bothers to tell me what things are about. Its probably just him wanting me to make the military train harder. I don’t really care that much, so I don’t bother walking too fast.

It’s cold in the halls, and Baz comes to mind.

Damn, now I’m thinking about him, about how he probably spends every lesson thinking about how to best serve my head up on a silver platter to his family. About which cuts of my body would pair best with the wine he makes out of my blood.

It’s a disgusting thought, but I know he’s thinking about it, and I stay in my head all the way to father’s study. I knock, I don’t have to, but it’s polite.

I open the large door after I hear a muffled ‘come in’ and I’m shocked when I see a woman sitting next to father.

She’s young, probably around my age, and she has long blonde hair and fair skin. She’s pretty.

“Sit down, Simon,” father commands and gestures to the seat in front of him and the girl. I follow his orders easily and take a seat. I’m anxious, but I can’t explain why.

“Simon, I’m going to keep this short because I’m very busy. This is Agatha, the third princess of Traigia to the north. She is to be your wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my random shit on tumblr @notta-botta

**Author's Note:**

> Idk when ill update this, could be today could be in a week who knows not me. If you want to see my various shenanigans check out my tumblr notta-botta


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